


Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed

by usuallysunny



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Daenerys is brought back from the dead, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post 8x06, Post-Canon, Smangst, Smut, Targaryen Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: Daenerys is brought kicking and screaming back from the dead, but she’s not the same.Haunted by what he’s done, by the ghosts of all he’s loved and lost, Jon's not the same either.





	Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure smut/angst - smangst if you will! - that's really all there is to it. Allow my dramatic self. Background is Daenerys is brought back from the dead because... reasons... and despite everything, she still wants Jon.

She drags her nails down his already scarred skin, painting his chest red, revelling in his sharp hiss.

She wants to hurt him, to ruin him, to break him like he broke her.

He’s still breaking her.

Sitting astride him, hips slamming up and down, she surveys her own handiwork. Her violet, violent eyes sweep over angry bite marks, slap marks, purple bruises already mottling under the skin. His pain is nothing compared to hers, it can’t be, and she’s so empty, so hollow, she’s practically shaking with it.

“I can’t,” he’s still saying, still trying to protest, even as he fills her with his cock. 

“You can,” she snarls back, clenching around him to make her point.

Sweat slicks their skin and she rides him harder.

“I can’t, Dany.”

_Don’t call me that, _the words are bitter poison on her tongue but she can’t get them out.

“You can.”

“It hurts,” he chokes out and she knows he’s not talking about the blood-streaks painting his chest.

_Good, _she wants to say.

He’s so big inside her, stretching her, and it feels so perfect, she suddenly wants to cry.

How could he have given this up? How could he have done what he did, killed her with a kiss, so much more painful than a stab in the back?

How could he have left her, alone in that dark place, without him?

“Jon, this is _right,_” she gasps out, eyes and throat burning, “can’t you feel this?”

“Couldn’t you?” he bites back, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Anger flares in her gut.

So he thinks this is _her_ fault; he thinks _she_ ruined them.

_You were an arrogant fool, _she thinks, _to think you could turn me._

She is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.

Or she was.

She’s not sure what she is now.

But she sure as hell isn’t Jon Snow’s broken little toy.

“What did you expect?” she pants, fingernails digging into his chest again, opening up old scars and creating new ones, “that your love would be enough for me to forget my birth-right? To forget what is mine?”

“You _murdered_ them,” he growls, even as his hands dig hard into her waist and guide her up and down his cock, “little children, _burned._”

He spits the words like venom, even harsher than he had before.

“Yet here you are,” she says blankly, eyelids fluttering as his cock hits the perfect spot inside her, “under me, inside me, fucking me like it’s the last time.”

“It is.”

Her laugh rings out empty and hollow.

“It’s not, because you can’t resist this,” She rides him harder, leaning down to capture his mouth in a heated kiss, “my mouth on yours, my cunt around your cock. You feel so guilty, you can’t make it stop. There’s nothing left. Nothing helps. Only this.”

He clenches his jaw, glancing away, and he’s so beautiful, it makes her want to claw her own eyes out from the sockets.

_He has no business being that beautiful_, she thinks, _he doesn’t deserve it. _

“I’m sor—”

“—if you apologise to me, I will cut your throat,” she sneers.

She can’t hear those words. She just can’t.

They snap something inside him. Before she can blink, he’s flipping them and covering her with his body. He slips inside her again, his cock sliding in easily. She’s soaking wet for him, the way she's always been, aching and throbbing and burning out of control.

She still wants him so violently, so viscerally, she’s almost shaking with it.

Death hasn’t changed a thing.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, angry and cruel and nothing like the Jon she remembers. He slams inside her, burying himself to the hilt, one hand resting beside her head and the other curling around her neck.

“Aye,” she spits sarcastically in a Northern accent, rolling her eyes to the sky, “after-all, where did your _honour, _your _kindness _ever get me? Fuck me as hard and rough as you like, Jon Snow. Fuck me like a wolf.”

He grunts his approval, grabbing her hips and flipping her onto her front.

She barely has time to catch her breath before he’s hoisting her onto her knees and slamming his cock inside her. She lets out a stunted gasp at the new angle, clenching around him.

He sets a rough and brutal pace and she revels in it, pushing back against him, fingers curling into the crisp sheets. 

At the back of her mind, she thinks about why he’s doing this. After-all, he wouldn’t before. He wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t come near her, not after the truth of his heritage was revealed.

_Aunt fucker. Queen slayer. _Two new names for him to add to his roster.

He’s different now, she thinks. Rougher around the edges. Haunted by her ghost and hardened by the world, by what he’s done.

One of hands, calloused and rough, wraps around her unbraided hair, pulling her up and to him. Her neck is long and milky white and he tastes her first, trailing his tongue over the skin before his teeth bite down with a snarl.

He’s rough, all wolf, and there’s little left of the gentle man she loved.

“I’ve missed your cunt,” his accent is stronger than usual, husky and rough in her ear, “always so hot and tight and wet. _Fuck_, you should see yourself. You should see how fucking beautiful you look.”

As he ruts into her, she slips two of his fingers into her mouth, biting down and sucking the way she would his cock. She feels him swell and twitch inside her and she sucks harder until he’s pulling slightly, hooking her mouth. 

His fingers are wet and slicked with spit when he pulls them away. He wastes no time in lowering them to her clit, pinching and rubbing until she’s arching her back and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Harder,” she growls, “fuck me harder.”

He acquiesces, a hand pushing her back down. His fingers dig into her hips, leaving Jon-hand shaped bruises, and she revels in how rough he is. She wants it harder, wants him to ruin her, to wreck her, to rip a hole in her so the light can seep back in.

She’s tired of feeling less than when she was dead.

His touch is so hot, it feels like a burn, and even though he hurts her, he’s the only one who makes her feel better too. She can sense the dragon in him now, as his cock fills her over and over, hitting the perfect spot until she feels that tell tale coil in the pit of her stomach. 

He knows.

He’s always known.

“That’s it,” he rasps out, “Missed your cunt. Missed feeling you come around my cock. Missed you – ”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, choking on the words. They cut off, hanging significantly in the charged air around them, and it’s _too much_. Too much to bear.

She comes with violent, blinding light searing behind her eyes, and she swears... _this _is death. Now she sees the gods they all talk about.

Her tight cunt milks him, hot and sopping wet now, and he spills inside her with a growl. She feels his seed gush into her, warming her, welcoming her home. She feels it seep down her thighs and some irrational, desperate part of her wants to squeeze them together, to keep it in, to not let any of it leak out. 

But she knows it inevitably will, because it’s _them, _it’s _their love, _and though they try to hold on to it, to cling desperately to it and keep it with them all the time, it’s destroyed now. Tainted. It will never be the same.

This is why she reprimands him moments later, when she’s in his arms and he’s whispering his devotion again.

“I love you,” he says, so broken and quiet it makes her chest hurt, "I never stopped.”

Her eyes are cold when she looks straight through him.

“You think that makes a difference?”

“No,” he murmurs, hollow and empty, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

It doesn't.

"You think I forgive you?"

"No."

She doesn't. 

But they can’t stay like this, dancing above the flames, broken and lost and only half alive.

It’s got to end.

Maybe she’ll take him with her next time.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Jonerys fic! :O I love them and Jonsa equally - but couldn't think of any storylines for them until now. Hopefully some inspiration will spark and I can write some more Jonerys if people like :)


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